


A Circle Closes, A Circle Opens

by little_abyss



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Abandonment, Alternate History, Circle of Magi, Declarations Of Love, Fereldan Culture and Customs, Lost Love, M/M, Mention of pregnancy, Past Relationship(s), Politics, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 11:44:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12506644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/pseuds/little_abyss
Summary: Tyrants always fall, and the downtrodden always strive for freedom!Those were the apostate mage Aldenon's final words to Calenhad, first king of Fereldan.  But now that the fate of the united clans is secure, Calenhad realises -- only he can right the wrong he did, all those years ago.





	A Circle Closes, A Circle Opens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeCarabas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeCarabas/gifts).



“Mairyn,” Calenhad says softly, and strokes one hand down the slight curve of her growing belly, “Please.  Don’t ask me to stay.  The sword is for the bairn… for the future.”

She shakes her head swiftly, her body stiff against his.  “What does a sword mean to a bairn?  It means nothing, if his father is not here to show him how to use it.”

He sighs and nods, his beard catching in her hair.  Mairyn trembles slightly, then sighs, pulling back from his body to look at his face.

Her eyes are clear, though they shine unnaturally.  “I always knew you’d want to find him one day.  And I know… I know that if you stayed, if you never found out what had happened to him… you’d never forgive yourself.”  She takes a short breath, and he watches her jaw work briefly before she asks, “If… If you do find him… do you think..?”

But she leaves the words hanging in the air between them and sighs, then smiles, looking away as he shakes his head.  They both know he will not return.  She nods.

“Will you take a guard?”

Calenhad shakes his head and swallows, opening his mouth as if to argue.  But Mairyn shakes her head, an echo of his gesture, and looks at him.  She raises her hand and cups his cheek, then smiles once more -- soft, strong.  “Go then, husband.  You have loved me well, and left our people stronger.  Find him.  Do what you need to do.”

 

“Mai, I…” Calenhad begins, but she straightens her spine and lifts her chin, going in that instant from his wife to Queen of Fereldan, their fledgeling nation.  

“Go,” she tells him, “As you will.  Goodnight, my king.”  

She bites her lip and steps back.  They look at each other, there in the doorway to her quarters, then Calenhad bows stiffly and steps away, further into the dark.  “Goodnight, my lady.  I…”

 

But she is turning, pushing the heavy oaken door closed.  There is a soft thud, then silence in the Keep.  Calenhad stands in the dark of the corridor.  He takes a deep breath, bows his head… then turns away, striding over the cold stone of the keep, praying that each step brings him closer to Aldenon.

 

-|||-

 

The man’s fist shakes, muscles trembling under the skin of his forearm, bone-thin fingers curled around his staff.  “Why?” Marterel asks Calenhad, “After all these years… why now?  Why alone?”

Calenhad bows his head.  His shoulders ache, everywhere else feels numb.  But his heart is alight still at tracking Marterel, that the man is here, here in front of him, talking to him.  He releases a slow breath.  Instinctively, he reaches one hand up to his face and is shocked when his fingers feel only stubble on his chin.  It’s been a year, and it still surprises him.  

He feels the weight of Marterel’s gaze, and lifts his eyes.  “He was my truest friend.  I loved him -- over anything else, over all… but I did not trust him.  And when he said he would not be caged, I heard the words… but I did not believe him.  After all he did for me, after all he gave me…”  Calenhad blinks, and turns his eyes away.  The words catch in his throat and he tries to clear it, then sighs.  Marterel is silent for a long time.

Finally, Calenhad turns his head, watching Marterel as he leans on his staff in the light of the veilfire.  The cave is dry and in the blue-green light, Calenhad can see grimoires and scrolls, herbs hung from the low parts of the ceiling, vials of strange, glowing liquid.  Marterel shifts, and their eyes meet.  “You threw him away,” Marterel says softly, “He offered you everything he had, all the knowledge of deep magic, all his insight, and you threw him away, like his gifts were nothing.  He taught me everything he knew; he was the best of us.  What makes you think I would give him up to you, so that you might exhibit such mundane cruelties again?”

Calenhad feels his chest constrict, all the joy of his find suddenly gone.  When he swallows, his throat makes a dry clicking sound.  He cannot tear his gaze away from Marterel’s.  He shakes his head and smiles sadly.

“Because I love him.  Because I rue every moment the decisions which drove us apart.”  The words are spoken simply, calmly, though Calenhad can feel deep emotion welling within himself at the sound of them there, in the gloom of the cave.  “With your help or without it, I will find him.  In this world or the next, or the one after -- I will find him.”  His voice shudders, and he blinks back the sudden tears, swiping at them quickly with dirty fingers, before he continues, more quietly than before:  “I am not too proud to beg, Marterel.”  

 

Marterel shakes his head.  “You are the Silver Knight -- I would not ask such a thing of you.”  He sighs deeply, and turns, drawing his cowl over his head as he does.  “If he does not wish to see you, that is his decision to make.  As a free man, I would not take that away from him.”  The words, though quietly spoken, seem to ring around the cave, and Calenhad feels tension crawl once more over his shoulders.  He drops his eyes from Marterel’s back and clasps his hands before himself, waiting.  There is the noise of scratching, and a night bird calls loudly from outside.  Footsteps, then Calenhad looks up when he feels Marterel’s hand on his arm.  

“Here,” Marterel says, holding out a thin sheaf of paper.  “This is where I last saw him.  You have to go through the waterfall.  Do not go without first crying your intent.”  

Calenhad swallows, taking the sheaf of paper silently.  He nods, then looks at the mage, the one they call _the Elusive_. “Thank you.  The Maker protect you, ser.”

Marterel shrugs and smiles slightly.  “The Maker helps those that help themselves, I have heard.  Go well, King Calenhad.  I do not know if you will find the resolution you seek, but I have hope.”

“As do I,” Calenhad tells him softly, and sighs, the paper clutched tightly between his fingers.  “As do I.”

 

-|||-

 

The charcoal is smudged, the paper torn at one edge.  Thin to start with, it is almost rubbed away in places with long travel.  Calenhad rubs his chin with one bare hand, unaware of how gaunt his face has become.  The years of searching have not been kind.   But around him, what was once his kingdom thrives.  He had heard, a year ago, that his son -- _Weylan_ , he reminds himself -- had attained the throne, with Meiryn serving as Queen Regent.   _Thank the Maker_ , he had whispered to himself, and joined the throngs at the small Chantry of the villiage he had been passing through.  But his ragged cloak and twine-wrapped boots were met with suspicion, and as he’d approached for the Mother’s benediction, a Templar had stepped in front of him, taken him by one arm and muttered, _on your way, old man._

But if he is right -- if this is the place… Calenhad folds the little map carefully, draws the hood of his cloak over his face and steps into the spray of the waterfall.  The water is everywhere in that moment, colder than anything he remembers, and he wants to gasp a breath.  Cold, _Maker_ , it is freezing.  He keeps walking forward, the rocks slippery under his feet, and then he is through.  Shivering, he opens his eyes… and draws a breath at the brilliance of his surroundings.

 

In the deep, velvety blackness of the cave’s interior shine a million tiny magelights.  Their silvery beams dance on the surface of the water, tremulous and delicate.  Calenhad’s mouth opens, remembering Marterel’s dictum, and he croaks, “Al… Aldenon?  Aldenon?  Are you here?”

Nothing.  Not a word, not a whisper; just the echo of his own voice mocking him.  His stomach is tight, this has to be it, he has to be here.  “Aldenon?” Calenhad asks again, his voice wavering, close to tears.  “It’s me.  Calenhad.  Please… please, I just want to talk to you.  Are… are you here?”

 _Are you here_? asks the echo over the sound of the water, and Calenhad tries to walk forward.  But he is weak, and the flow of the water around his legs is too strong, or the rocks are too slippery -- either way, he stumbles, and falls hard to his hands and knees.  He cries out in shock, and the sound of it resounds around the cave, louder than he’d ever dreamed.  Calenhad sobs, struggling up, his wet clothes heavy and frigid. “Please, Al, please,” he moans, and squeezes his eyes closed, the tears hot on the lashes.

 

And it feels like a dream, like a strange dream to wait there, in the cold water, the noise all around him, his eyes closed in the dark.  Unaware of how his body shivers wretchedly in the chill, Calenhad bows his head and gives himself up to it, this feeling of loss.  “Please,” he sobs, over and over, the word broken and harsh.  He doesn’t know who he is pleading with; the Maker, himself, Aldenon.  He cries for all he has searched for, everything he lost and could not find again.  The struggle of his long years of searching come upon him, all at once, and the Silver Knight falls.

 

-|||-

 

A warm hand on his brow, and he turns in his sleep.  “Aldenon,” he says without meaning to, but instead of hearing Meiryn’s sigh, he hears a deep chuckle.  

“Sleep,” says a familiar voice, and he does.

 

-|||-

 

“I thought I’d lost you, that I’d ruined everything,” he tells Aldenon, who rolls his eyes.

“You did,” he says flatly, and shrugs.  “This isn’t real, you know.”

“If it isn’t real,” Calenhad grins, “Then how am I able to do this?”

He catches Aldenon’s hand, pulls him closer to wrap one hand around his waist.  The skin of his cheek is rough; their stubble catches together and Aldenon chuckles softly in his ear.  “Quite easily,” he mutters, his breath soft on Calenhad’s skin, “It’s your dream, after all.  Interesting, that you should still dream of this place, after all this time.  This is the square at Highever, is it not?”

Calenhad blinks, looking around them.  There’s no mistaking it -- the small Chantry, the stalls, the cobbles underfoot.  Everything is as it was in his childhood, all those years ago.  He draws a shuddering breath and looks at Aldenon, so real, right there in front of him.  Aldenon smiles, looking up at him with dark eyes.  “Wake up,” he whispers, his voice tender and sad.  “Wake up, Cal.”

 

He opens his eyes, into the shimmering dark.  It’s cold.  “Aldenon?” he whispers, and then a warm hand is on his brow, another on his hand, long fingers curling into his.

“Why did you come?” Aldenon whispers, and Calenhad bites his lips together, his breath hitching in his lungs.

“I… I needed, needed you to know…” he begins, and chokes back a sob.  Aldenon’s fingers tighten in his, and Calenhad takes a small measure of strength from the gesture, and continues, “I am sorry.  So… so sorry.  I… I thought… I only wanted…”

Aldenon sighs.  “You have sown the wind, Calenhad.  You could have given those of us born of magic a chance to choose our life’s course.  Instead, you sold us to the Chantry.  Do you see it?  Can you see the whirlwind coming for us, knowing that there’s nothing you can do?”

 

In the dark, Calenhad nods.  “I see it,” he whispers, making a great effort to quiet his breathing.  “I’m sorry.”

There is silence, then Aldenon sighs again.  “I am, as well.  I loved you, Calenhad.  Was I not your most true ally?  What did I do to grieve you?”

“Nothing,” Calenhad whispers, and makes an effort to get up from where he lies.  Aldenon puts a gentle hand on his chest and pushes him back down onto the pallet bed.

“I loved you well,” he repeats, his voice soft.   The noise of the waterfall is distant, but Calenhad has no desire to observe his surroundings; he only wishes to drink in as much of Aldenon’s presence as he can.  The hand on Calenhad’s chest remains still for a moment, then it moves up slowly, up Calenhad’s throat to softly cup his cheek.  “I never ceased, though I hated you too, and feared that you hated me too, at the end.”

“No,” Calenhad whispers, and closes his eyes.  Tears trickle down his temples, into his hair.  “No.  Please.  I’m sorry.”

“Then please, help me now,” Aldenon whispers, and shifts his body.  The hand upon Calenhad’s cheek moves to his hair, grown long and unkempt, and then Aldenon’s warm weight is covering him.  Calenhad feels his breath on his face, lips brushing lightly against his own as Aldenon tells him, “We cannot restore what is burned; but we can rebuild.  Something new, somewhere far away.  Will you help me gather my people?  Will you come with me now, help me as I once helped you?”

“Yes,” Calenhad breathes, and feels Aldenon smile against him, feels the depth of his love within him, the joy of their bodies together, their minds once again bent to the same purpose.  “Yes.  I will.”

“Good,” Aldenon whispers, “Because I love you, Calenhad.  Let us build a new future, together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to DeCarabas for this lovely prompt -- I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


End file.
